


You Are the Magnet

by thedisgruntledone



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Drinking, Implied Slash, M/M, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-27 02:54:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1712351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedisgruntledone/pseuds/thedisgruntledone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will Graham is supposed to be dead, but when Hannibal learns that he is very much alive he can't resist finding him, mostly to see if he's as beautifully broken as he used to be. </p><p>He doesn't expect Will to surprise him once again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Are the Magnet

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt on the hannibal kink meme on dreamwidth. It would not leave me alone until I finally got something out. Per usual I managed to go sideways from the prompt, which you will find at the bottom.

Bedelia was gone before a month had passed.

Hannibal had known she would try to run. He had been aware that her eagerness to work with him when he had finally tracked her down had been borne out of the desperation to save her own life. Had he not needed the information she had provided he would have killed her and been done with it – he so hated leaving an enemy alive, and Bedelia had more ammunition against him than most – but the intel she had been able to provide about the plots of Jack Crawford and Will Graham had proved invaluable, and so he had given her the gift of her life. For a time.

He had fully intended to take care of the problem of her continued existence in France, as well, but she had once again proved herself an asset when she had helped him through his feelings of hurt and betrayal towards Will, his dear Will, whom he’d allowed to see more of his true self than anybody. Dear Will, whom he might have loved, as much as he could, had he not ruined it all by doing his best to see him incarcerated. His beautiful, broken Will, who had been so close to finally becoming all he was always meant to be, the beautiful butterfly of Hannibal’s creation.

The loss of Abigail had affected him less than Will’s defection. Her life and death had been in his hands from the moment he had chosen to save her life by holding her throat closed as she lay bleeding on her kitchen floor, Will shaking and beautiful beside her. He had kept her alive for Will – allowed her heart to keep beating in the hope that it would draw him deeper under Hannibal’s influence – and Will’s refusal to be drawn in had forced his hand. Abigail could not be the gift Hannibal had intended if Will could not play by his rules. He did still mourn her, however. Her loss was a blow to the life he had envisioned for himself. A loss of the family he had finally allowed himself to hope for.

Bedelia had helped him through this, and for that, he had been grateful enough to spare her life for a time. He had needed her calm reasoning, especially when he had learned that the only one to survive the encounter at his home had been the one person Hannibal had not seen to personally – although Alana had not escaped without damage. She would never walk again. Everyone else had perished – Jack and Abigail from neck wounds, and Will from the gutting Hannibal had given him.

Hannibal had been surprised by the depth of his grief. Not for William – he was well aware that he still cared for Will nearly as much as he now hated him – but for Jack. He had truly been a friend, even if in the end that friendship had not been able to survive the knowledge of who Hannibal really was, and Hannibal found he would miss the other man.

He was not prone to regrets about his choices, however, and had soon composed his feelings. What Will had done to him would continue to ache, he knew, but it was not something he had to feel. He tucked his anger and his grief away in Will’s area of his mind palace, and turned his attention to more pressing matters. Such as Bedelia’s continued existence.

He had decided fairly quickly that killing her was the only option. While allowing her to keep her life as a thank you for the services she had rendered him held a certain attraction, self-perseverance would always win. She knew far too much about Hannibal, understood him far too well, to be kept alive.  He would regret her passing, but he could not stay his hand. However, she had once again managed to read him, disappearing before he could take her life, this time not leaving so much as a speck of dust in her wake. He knew he would never see her again.

It was a blow, to know that she was out in the world with knowledge that could hurt him, but he also felt an odd respect for her cleverness in escaping his knife a second time. There was a part of  him that delighted in the knowledge that she was still alive – that there was still one person left in the world who might be able to out maneuver him, now that Will Graham’s place in it was gone.

With Bedelia gone, France no longer seemed the safe haven it had once been. He did not think she would try to have him imprisoned – she had to know that any attempt to bring him to justice would open her up to being found – but he knew that he was better off if he left the country, just the same.

He travelled Europe for several months, at first living off of the money he had put aside in the event of his needing to make a quick escape, and then finding employment when those funds began to dwindle. He was well-educated, well-spoken, and well-travelled. There were no shortage of jobs to be had for someone of his caliber, and he lived fairly comfortably wherever he went.

He could have moved indefinitely, travelled the world and never returned to the States. This was in fact his plan for a long time, until he happened to be at a small café in Italy reading up on America’s latest news when a picture caught his eye. _Local Teacher Finds Missing Boy_ screamed the headline, but he paid it only a passing glance. His eye was focused on the slightly blurry picture of none other than Will Graham, doing his level best to look as unappealing as possible and failing utterly. Hannibal drank in the sight of him, noted the return of the glasses and the awful plaid. Will was scruffier and more unkempt than Hannibal had ever seen him, and even in the substandard photograph he could tell that he had not been eating or sleeping well at all. Yet underneath the ridiculous beard and wild curls he was still Will. Hannibal would know him anywhere. He ran a finger down the picture, then scanned the article, picking up the salient points.

Will now went by the name Walter Grant. He resided once again in New Orleans and made his living teaching high school Biology. He had risen to fame by locating a boy who had gone missing nearly a week prior, figuring out where he was almost by magic. He hadn’t given an interview, and had obviously allowed the picture unwillingly, something that made Hannibal smile. He set his tablet down beside him and for the next fifteen minutes was lost in thought. Finally he came to a decision. He was back in the States within a week, and days after he’d first set foot on American soil he had a spacious home purchased just outside of New Orleans, as well as a brand new Bentley.

Once he had settled in, he began to watch Will. He had not changed as much as Hannibal would have thought – he still preferred dogs to people, still drove a car much too worn down to really be any good to him, and still made his home as far away from civilization as he could get it, surrounded by trees. His routine hardly varied: in the morning, he would head out into the damp air for a run with his two dogs, after which he would go to work and spend the day lecturing at his students and doing his best to avoid their questions. When the day was done, he would dodge the rest of the staff as best he could and head back home, where he would sit outside for hours with his dogs and a bottle of whiskey, brooding and obviously only waiting for the time when he was finally drunk enough to stumble to bed and collapse without dreaming.

If the wound Hannibal cut deep into his stomach ever bothered him, he showed no sign of it, none that Hannibal could see.

Normally Hannibal was not one for stalking – he preferred to watch his prey only long enough to ascertain the best way to remove them from the world, and had no use for watching anyone else – but as always, Will managed to become the exception to the rule. It was somehow soothing, to see that he was still broken, even if he did his best to give no hint of his struggles to the world around him. It was obvious enough to anyone who cared to look – Will did not eat, could not sleep without drinking himself into a stupor. He was barely surviving, but anyone who might have wanted to help him had more than likely been rebuffed until they stopped trying. Hannibal could watch this beautiful self-destruction forever.

He had to admit, as he continued to watch Will, that he had missed him, more than he had known. Hannibal’s life had always been a solitary one, but the brief, bright friendship that he had thought he’d shared with Will Graham had changed him, made him wish for more. He wanted a companion, a family, and having had Will, he would never be able to settle for anything less. Despite everything that he had done to him, despite his plans to seduce him directly into a prison cell, despite his pain and bitterness towards him, Hannibal still only wanted Will Graham.

He might never have acted on these thoughts, content to watch Will as he slowly succumbed to his demons, had the status quo not abruptly shifted, the teacup that Hannibal had thought broken beyond repair suddenly made whole again.

The day that everything changed began like nearly any other. It happened to be a Sunday, which meant that Will had nothing to stop him from crawling into the bottle and not bothering to come out, as he had done his shopping for supplies – consisting mostly of alcohol, with little in the way of true sustenance – the day before.  Hannibal watched him as he took his ever present bottle of whiskey and sat on his porch, enjoying his own lunch from the relative shade and safety of the surrounding trees. He had not been completely focused on watching Will. A man had to eat, and the cut of meat he was currently enjoying was especially fine – kidneys from an incredibly rude but delightfully healthy young man he’d happened across while doing his shopping a few days previously. He had made sure to hide the body well; he had no intention of alerting anyone who might be looking to his presence. The FBI must have guessed that it would only be a matter of time before he came looking for Will – why else would they have faked his death and placed him so far away from where he could be useful?  He did not intend to give them any reason to suspect that they had been correct.

As the day dwindled and the sun began to set, Will fell asleep in his chair, the bottle slipping from his fingers to land on the porch, spilling amber liquid. One of the dogs raised its head and sniffed at it, but the scent must not have appealed to it because soon the head rested back on paws, all interest lost.  

Hannibal stood from his spot in the trees, brushing himself off and stretching the kinks in his back. He’d stayed longer than he meant to. He normally didn’t indulge in watching Will for so long, but it seemed that he had taken Will’s view of the day, and allowed himself the slip. He sent a fond look at the man passed out on his porch, enjoying the sight of him so unguarded, even if it was alcohol induced. He knew Will would wake later, body stiff and sore from sleeping in the chair, and drag himself to bed, where if he was very lucky he would be able to fall back to sleep without dreams. Hannibal was torn as to whether he wished him that luck or not.

The pause to glance back at Will allowed him to catch sight of the headlights of a small hybrid car approaching the house. Curious, Hannibal watched as the car pulled up next to Will's and parked. He knew that Will had no friends here, and he doubted that any the few people he had managed to connect with during his old life would make the journey to see him. Jack might have, or possibly Alana, but Jack would never drive anywhere again, and though Alana would probably still be willing to try to connect with him, Hannibal had seen no evidence that Will might wish the same. 

After a moment, the driver’s door opened. A jean clad leg appeared, followed by a body and face that Hannibal had never thought he would see again in this world. His mouth opened on a silent gasp as Abigail shut her car door, taking Will in with a sigh. She opened the back to pull out an overnight bag and walked up to where Will lay slumped, pausing only to greet the two dogs that had rushed out to meet her, tails wagging. She set her bag down on the porch and bent to pick up the overturned bottle, the braid she wore dangling nearly into the puddle that had spilled earlier. She shook her head, then strode purposefully back off the porch, where she overturned the bottle and poured what was left into the earth. That done, she returned to Will, placing the bottle next to the chair and reaching a hand out to shake his shoulder gently. Will shifted, murmured something unintelligible, the sound carrying easily to Hannibal where he stood watching raptly.

Abigail shook him harder, and finally Will opened his eyes. He peered up at her blearily, then his straightened, wincing as stiff muscles protested. He scrubbed a hand over his face and said something in a low voice. Abigail shook her head and Will’s shoulders slumped, defeated. A small, bitter smile appeared on his mouth as he spoke again, and Hannibal wished that he were close enough to hear the words themselves instead of merely the sound of them.

As if she had heard his wish, Abigail spoke her sharp reply loudly enough that he was able to hear her clearly. “At least _I’m_ trying! What do you do every day, sit here and wallow and hope that somehow things work themselves out on their own? Are you trying to kill yourself? Leave me alone again, without anyone?”

Will shook his head, eyes wide. His mouth opened, but Abigail wasn’t finished. “If you want to drink yourself to death, fine, I don’t care. But first you’re gonna help me. You did this; you have to fix it. You _promised_. You said we’d be able to do it, be able to-to-“ and she burst into tears.

Will was up in a flash, putting his arms around her and pulling her close. She struggled for a moment, then sagged against him, crying quietly. He rubbed his hands up and down her back and said something in such a low voice that Hannibal could only tell he'd spoken by the slight movement of his mouth in the dim light. Abigal shook her head hard. Will kept whispering, and she shoved him away, angrily wiping tears off of her cheeks.

“No! I won’t give up. _I’m_ not the one he hates. This is all your fault; why didn’t you just go with us when he asked you?” She turned away from Will, grabbing her bag and fleeing into the house. Will watched her go, then sank back into the chair and put his head in his hands. His shoulders shook once, twice, then were still. He did not lift his head.

Hannibal backed away from the sight, stunned. Abigail was alive and looking for him. The teacup he’d thought shattered was once again remade, this time completely without his knowledge. Had they been placed together, then, by the FBI, so that they would be easier to keep an eye on? He thought not. It was much more likely that they had been separated, and found each other. Had it been Abigail who located Will, believing that she could manipulate him into helping her find Hannibal? That she blamed Will for what had happened to her had been clear enough, and it was possible that she had chosen to use Will’s affection for her to make  him promise to help her, yet Hannibal didn’t think that was the case. Abigail would not have the resources to find Will – she was a clever girl, but had Will not wanted to be found, he wouldn’t be. That left the only other option: Will had sought Abigail. That was not surprising – he loved her, would want to try to connect with her in some way once he realized she was alive – and she had used his guilt and love to manipulate him into providing the means to look for Hannibal.

That was closer to the truth of it, he decided later as he lay in bed, thinking of what had transpired, but it did not quite fit. The way Abigail had acted, it was almost as if she thought – but no. Will must have told her that he wanted to find Hannibal, must have convinced her somehow that he no longer wanted to see him incarcerated, but Hannibal could not believe it. He had allowed his own desire for Will to overcome his doubts once before, and he would not be fooled again so easily. He would not attempt to envision a world where Will Graham wanted to be by his side, but perhaps he could have Abigail. He decided to take a chance.

The next morning he drove up to the house well after the time Will usually left for work, taking no pains to conceal himself. The little hybrid was still there, and if Abigail had not gone with Will – and Hannibal didn’t think she had, not after what had transpired the night before – then she would be alone for some time. Time enough for her to disappear, if she so chose.

The door was unlocked when he tried it, and he stepped into the house. She was waiting for him in the kitchen, eyes wide and disbelieving. Her feet were bare and her hair was loose. She wore no scarf. Hannibal observed the angry line across her throat, not so easily hidden now. He held out his hand. “Abigail,” he said, and that broke her paralysis.

She moved towards him slowly and took his outstretched hand, allowed him to pull her to his chest, to hold her. She tucked herself against him the way that she always had, buried her head in his shoulder and inhaled shakily.

“It’s you. It’s really you,” she said, and then her arms were around him, holding him tightly as she started to tremble. Hannibal placed his cheek atop her head and closed his eyes.

He settled her on the threadbare couch in the living area, allowing her to settle in against his side and rest her head on his shoulder. She relaxed against him with a sigh, grabbed one of his hands and held it between her own.

“I knew you would find us, knew you wouldn’t let us be without you forever. Even when Will stopped looking I never did. I couldn’t. You promised me we’d be together. I knew you’d keep your promise.” She lifted her head and beamed at him. He smiled back fondly.

“Had I known you were alive, I would have come much sooner.”

“I know. I missed you so much, but I knew that we’d find each other again.”

“I thought it likely that you would be far more angry with me.”

Hannibal ran his hand lightly over the scar on the side of her neck. She shivered.

“You didn’t want to. You had to because Will forced your hand. He shouldn’t have done that; he knows that now. He’ll be so happy you’re here, you’ll see.”

Hannibal gently took his hand back from her so that he could reach up and cradle her face. He looked into her eyes.

“Abigail, I'm afraid you are going to have to make a difficult choice. It's my intention to leave the country very soon, and it's my wish that you accompany me. However, if you choose to do so, you will have to let go of dear Will. He can never know where you are.”

Abigail stared at him. “You want to leave Will? But I thought…you said you wanted us to be a family.”

“So I did. Unfortunately, Will had other plans. You must understand that I can never trust him after the way he betrayed me, betrayed us. He did not wish to bind himself to us the way we did him. Whatever he told you, whatever he said to make you believe otherwise, his goal must be to trap me, to force me into a cage, never again to see the outside world.  I cannot allow that. Perhaps in another world Will is part of our family, but it cannot be in this one.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I'm sorry to be so impatient, but I need your decision now. Will you come with me?”

Abigail bit her lip, nodded. Tears were leaking from her eyes.  Hannibal smiled, kissed her forehead. “We have some time left to us before Will returns. Get your things, say your goodbyes. You may leave a note for Will if you wish, but say nothing of where we are going. He will know not to look for you.”

Abigail nodded again and pulled out of his arms to follow his instructions. Hannibal relaxed farther into the couch and closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of her packing and breathing deeply, committing the smell of the place to his memory. It was not a good smell – dog and drink and desperation – but he savored it as if it were the best scent in the world, knowing that it was the last he would ever have of Will. He would stay away, now that he had Abigail. He would keep her and tend to her and invest everything in her that he had once thought to invest in another. He would make it so she never wanted to leave him, could never betray him. It would be enough.

He heard the sound of a car door shutting outside, and sighed heavily. He should have known that Abigail would try to contact Will when she realized who it was that had shown up at their door – she’d been led to believe that he wanted to be with Hannibal as much as she did, after all. He had hoped to leave Will alive, but was prepared to kill him should he try to get in their way.

Hannibal stood as the front door opened, and Will called out for Abigail. He walked calmly to the front of the house and observed Will standing by the door.

Up close, he looked even more gaunt than he had from a distance. His eyes were red rimmed, and occasionally his hands twitched. He reeked of old sweat and alcohol. He looked like a man who was barely keeping himself together, and Hannibal wondered how he had managed to keep his job when he looked so run down.

Will met his gaze without flinching; his mouth twitched in a brief, bitter smile. “Planning on actually leaving this time?” he asked, folding his hands into fists at his side. “Taking Abigail and running away?”

Hannibal inclined his head slightly, wondering how long he had. He was positive that Will had called the authorities when Abigail had foolishly told him that Hannibal had arrived. And yet surely they would have beaten him there…

“Don’t,” Will said, sounding panicked. “Don’t go.”

He took a step towards Hannibal, who took a step back without meaning to. Will stopped as well, ran a hand through his disheveled hair.

“I thought – you never tried to contact me, not even once. I’d thought you would, thought you wouldn’t be able to help rubbing what I’d turned down in my face. I was sure you’d realize that I was alive and try to taunt me. But you didn’t. You just…disappeared. And then I found Abigail.” He paced away from the door, then back, agitated. Hannibal put a hand in his pocket and felt for the knife he kept there, just in case. Will took no notice; his gaze was focused on something far away, something only he could see.

“They told me she’d died. Died on that floor when I couldn’t hold on anymore, when I couldn’t keep her neck closed. I still feel the blood, sometimes, running between my fingers…at first I believed them. I couldn’t know they were lying; I passed out from blood loss before the ambulance arrived.  I was a mess, miserable and sick. I didn’t _want_ to think they were lying. But then I started looking. Not for her. For you. I knew you hadn’t stayed in the states, knew you’d go abroad. I still had to be sure. And what I found was Abigail. She made me promise to keep looking for you, made me swear that we would find you and be together, the way you’d wanted before.” Will stopped pacing and gave him a look filled with heartbreak. “But you don’t want me anymore, do you? Just her. You’d take her and leave me here alone.”

Hannibal stared. He could not see any sign of deceit in Will, but he knew that it had to be there. Will had fooled him before, hurt him badly. Hannibal would not let him do so again.

Will must have read this on his face, for his shoulders slumped and he nodded. Then he went to his knees, folded over as though his legs no longer had the strength to hold him. Perhaps they did not. He looked up at Hannibal from his knees with eyes that were wide and filled with some sort of madness.

“You said, once, that you’d forgiven me. Asked me to forgive you. I never gave you an answer, but I’d like to now. There is nothing to forgive, but if there were, I’d do it a million times over for what you gave me.” His gaze slid away from Hannibal to just over his shoulder. Hannibal knew who he was looking at but turned to see anyway. Abigail stood behind him, the bag she had brought with her by her feet. She watched the two of them with interest, her eyes lit with the same madness as Will’s.

“You gave her back. You gave her back and that is worth everything. Please, please don’t leave me here without you. Forgive me, Hannibal. Forgive me.”

Hannibal was floored. He had not allowed himself to hope that this might be the outcome of his return to the two of them, but there Will was, begging for another chance. As always, Hannibal was helpless to deny him what he asked. He stepped forward, kept going until he was right in front of the kneeling Will. He took his hand out of his pocket, leaving the knife where it was, and cupped the other man’s face. Will reached up and grasped at the hand with his own, turning his face so that he could press a kiss into the palm, his shining eyes never leaving Hannibal’s. 

“I told you he wanted to come,” Abigail said, moving to stand beside Hannibal. She took his other hand in hers, and reached down so that Will could take her free hand with his. Hannibal looked at them both, saw the utter devotion written all over their faces, and smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I should apologize. *facepalms*
> 
> Please do tell me what you think. 
> 
> As for the prompt, it can be found here: http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/3819.html?thread=7123179#cmt7123179
> 
> Full prompt: Help arrives and neither Will nor Abigail die. Some aftermath of a tragedy is what could have been, you know, so-- Will's dark side and codependency issues get exacerbated by perverse gratitude towards Hannibal because Abigail's not dead, and how Hannibal intended to "give her back" until Will ~ruined~ everything. Abigail's developed some serious Stockholm syndrome and doesn't hate Hannibal (maybe blames Will for how she nearly got killed). Together they become a bad loop of "I miss him," and "I wish I didn't," and regret during their physical recoveries. 
> 
> When they're able, they track him down and basically beg to get taken back. Hannibal's grudgingly okay with this, but he now has ~trust issues~ and lingering resentment, so he keeps Will in line using Abigail's life and well-being. (If you want to go into a worse place, make sex a new part of his and Will's relationship.)
> 
> The fates of Bedelia, Jack, Alana and the rest are up for grabs.


End file.
